Hasturi's Price
by Maddie
Summary: Missing scene from "Fear and Loathing in the Milky Way" between Harper and Trance. But also a flashback to Harper's childhood on earth. Slightly AU.


_**Title: **_Hasturi's Price, 1/1  
_**Author: **_Maddie  
_**Rating: **_PG-13 for violence and sexual themes  
_**Category: **_Angst  
_**Spoilers: **_"Fear and Loathing in the Milky Way"  
_**Disclaimer: **_Tribune owns them all...the ship, the crew and the universe, but...the plot belongs to me.  
_**Archiving: **_Yes, but only with permission from author. My stories are like my children. I like to know where they end up spending the night.  
_**Feedback: **_Always welcome  
_**Summary: **_Missing scene from "Fear and Loathing in the Milky Way", between Harper and Trance, but also a flashback to Harper's youth.  
_**Author's ****notes: **_This story has been hanging around my hard drive for almost a year. I thought it was time to box it and send it on its way. Please note that it was written long before I saw "Bunker Hill" so the circumstances depicted here do not exactly agree with canon. I guess that makes this slightly AU. It has not been beta'ed so if you see any glaring errors, please call them to my attention so they can be corrected. 

**** 

**_ Hasturi's Price  
  
_**

Staring at the stars scrolling lazily past the window, Harper wondered, not for the first time in the past 24 standard hours, how he could manage to start with such good intentions and screw things up so royally. Not that it was his fault this time. Well, he thought, not all his fault. He didn't invite Gerentex on board after all. He and Trance were just supposed to pass around a few tundra flowers and Commonwealth good will. They had done what they were expected to do, enjoying a little free time as they did. Was it his fault Rat Face invited himself along for the ride? 

From the corner of his eye he glanced at is companion. Trance sat quietly, the book clutched firmly in both arms, and held protectively to her chest like a newborn babe. She had hardly spoken since they departed Carrerra's Casino, leaving Gerentex to ponder the potential of his newest financial scheme. Harper had tried to cajole her into allowing him to at least look at the book, but she had been adamant about 'protecting' their prize acquisition. What did she think he going to do, grab it and run, copy the pages, worse yet, tear something out? He just wanted to hold it in his hands for a minute, savor the wonder of what they had actually found, and, well maybe, check out the actual text. See if the trip was truly feasible. See if Hasturi's diary was what they believed it was or just another hoax in a long line of imitations. 

But then she would clutch the book even more firmly, and give him that look, the one that made him distinctly uncomfortable. The look he never thought he would see in her eyes. The look he might never be able to erase. She didn't trust him. He had shown her a side of himself he never wanted her to see and now she acted as though she wasn't sure if she could trust him. And that hurt. For the first time, she seemed to realize that he was not sweetness and light. Not all peace and good will like she wanted to believe everyone was. She had shown a tougher side of herself when faced with his behavior, but she also demonstrated that tough didn't have to be nasty or unreasonable. 

Turning back to the chronometer on the navigation board, he noted that they had been traveling for almost ten hours. The last slipstream jump had been unusually long, which explained why every muscle in his body ached. He felt like he'd spent the past week wrestling the Maru through the slipstream and he had lost track of the number of actual jumps they had made. He just knew that he needed a break. They would soon be back to Andromeda, and then the real explaining would begin. At least, he thought positively, they had managed to get through their little adventure without damaging the Maru. Which meant Beka wouldn't be breathing down his neck and threatening him with ten kinds of retribution for denting her beloved ship, even if he was the one who always pounded the dents back out. 

A small shuffle of sound brought him out of his reverie and he glanced at Trance. She had shifted her position, resting the book on her lap. 

Leaning towards her he smiled, "So, uh, Trance, is there any chance at all you will let me even peak at the diary?" He had tried this tactic before with no luck. He really didn't expect any change in her attitude. And he wasn't disappointed. Her lips tightened and she shook her head imperceptibly. 

"How 'bout if you just open it and let me look while you hold it? I promise I won't touch." 

She shook her head again. 

"Aw come on, Trance..." Okay, he was ready to start pleading. He heard his voice go up an octave as he changed his tactics. "I just want to make sure we have what we think we have. Gerentex gave up too willingly." 

"I don't think giving in under threat of death is giving up willingly." Trance finally broke her silence. 

"Is that what's bothering you?" Harper jumped down from the pilot's seat and took a step closer to his alien friend. "That I threatened to kill Gerentex. Not that he didn't deserve it." She immediately, hugged the book to her and leaned defensively back in her seat. "Look, I know I acted a little insanely back there, but..." But what? He thought. Did he really have an explanation for the way he had behaved? In the blink of an eye he had reverted to the old ways, to "Earth Survival Mode," to an attitude he never thought he would need to use again. It had frightened her. He had to admit he had frightened himself. Falling back into that behavior pattern had been too easy. 

"But?" Trance asked expectantly. 

Harper held his hands out and open, shrugging his shoulders. "You did know I was just joking?" he asked lamely. 

"No," Trance replied. "I didn't think you were joking at all. You sounded pretty serious." 

"Well, I was just joking...really. I wanted Gerentex to believe I was serious so you had to believe I was serious too." 

"Serious about everything." 

"He had to think that. It's all part of the 'bad cop' game." 

"And the 'worse cop'?" 

Harper rolled his eyes in exasperation. She wasn't going to give in. It didn't seem to matter that he was just as responsible for actually acquiring the diary as she had been. Maybe more so. He had made all the jumps through the slipstream. He had opened the doors to Hasturi's vault like hideout. He had forced Gerentex to tell them what he was after in the first place. 

"Were you tortured by Neitzscheans?" she persisted. 

Like all her questions, Trance's innocent inquiry caught him off guard. He shrugged again. "Yeah," he answered simply. "That was a long time ago, Trance." 

"Why?" 

"Why did I tell Gerentex?" 

"No." Her eyes widened and her voice was a whisper. "Why did the Neitzscheans do it?" 

Harper shrugged, as though he could shrug off the memory. "Neitzscheans don't need a reason. I'm a kludge. A human. A miserably small and insignificant human by their standards. I guess they thought it would be fun." 

Trance's face softened and she seemed to consider the enormity of his simple explanation. This was the way things were in this universe. He suspected the reality of his life didn't quite mesh with her philosophy of acceptant good will. 

"Did you really kill someone in an alley for some cheese?" 

Harper swallowed hard. The memory she touched was a cold and bitter one. Far more bitter than the memory of his session with the Neitz. This one was best left buried. 

"Did you?" she asked gently, no recrimination or accusation in her voice. He opened his mouth to deny any knowledge of what he had said earlier, but he couldn't look into her eyes and lie. He wasn't sure he was ready to tell her the whole sordid tale either. And yet he couldn't help remembering. 

**** 

He had been eleven. Young by human standards, but very old for someone raised on Earth. He remembered the day clearly though it was just one of a host of nightmares he had chosen to bury. His mother was dying. He knew she was though they didn't speak of it. He had heard her cough, seen the blood stained sputum she tried to conceal, has watched her grow paler and thinner as the days passed. He suspected it was one of the ancient diseases Earth's doctors once thought they had eradicated; one that had resurfaced since the fall of the Commonwealth. His mother had survived Neitzschean and Magog attacks, struggled valiantly to raise her son alone, only to succumb to a miserable microbe. 'Kinda the way I always do,' he thought bitterly. 

The day had been gray, cold, and rainy. Seamus Harper had shivered as he tried to coax warmth from their tiny stove to take the chill from the damp air. Mother had sounded far worse since the seasons had changed bringing the cold autumn rain. Her breath rattled as she tried to draw enough air to talk to him. She had sent him to barter for a small amount milk and cheese from an old lecher that was tough enough and well off enough to own a few goats. He guarded his animals like they were gold, fed them more than most humans ate and treated them better than most would their children. He also used what they produced to buy what he couldn't get any other way. Mother usually went herself, but had grown too weak to make the short journey, too weak to pay the old man's price. And now, in desperation, she had asked her son to take her place, sending with him the few coins she had saved, knowing all too well it would not be enough. He knew. He had known for years what the man demanded of his mother. What she had paid to buy milk for him when he was too sick to eat anything else. So he swallowed his pride and walked the four miles to Old Zachary's stronghold. Stood on his doorstep. Made his request. Fought back the tears as twisted, dirty hands fondled his young body. Paid the price. He left Old Zachary's house with a pound and a half of cheese and a quart of milk tucked under his arm. In his heart was a darkness he knew would never again be light. Though he'd been allowed to clean his body before he left, he could never clean his soul. 

The sun was setting as he walked the darkened streets towards the shack he and his mother called home. The way was dangerous by day, treacherous by night, when gangs of humans, far worse than any marauding alien, roamed the back alleys and twisting cul de sacs between what passed as streets in this rancid, collection of shanties. He fought back the tears, for he knew he dared not be seen crying, held his head high, and walked with a confidence he did not feel, swaggering as much as an undersized child could swagger. It's 'all in the show', his cousin Declan always told him. "Act like you're bigger than you are, and people will think twice before hurting you. Act like a wimp and they'll trounce you every time." 

He was so absorbed in putting on a front that he never heard the footsteps behind him until a heavy hand fell on his shoulder and spun him around. He staggered, almost dropping his precious packages. 

"And what have we here," said a taunting, arrogant voice. 

The voice made his blood run cold. 

"Bringing a little tribute so you can cross our turf." The hand pushed him sharply and a foot behind his tripped him. He fell backwards landing hard on his rump, clinging to the milk and cheese that meant a day or two of life for his mother and him. 

He looked up into the ring of faces forming around him. He knew the faces. They were like countless others whose sole purpose in life seemed to be making the lives of their fellow humans miserable when that occupational niche wasn't currently being taken by some invading alien force. They didn't have names. They didn't need names. They existed. And he had little chance against them. They would take what they wanted. If he were lucky, they wouldn't hurt him too badly in the process. 

"Look, he's got milk." One of the taller boys reached down and roughly yanked the milk from his hands, though he held on tenaciously. Laughing, the youth pulled the stopper from the bottle took a healthy swig, then passed the jug to his friends. "Seems the little whore boy went to visit Old Zachary. Too bad he wasn't better friends with the whiskey brewers." His companions laughed which encouraged him. "So, boy, was it fun. Letting Old Zach run his stinking hands all over you. Huh? I've heard the old man can't do much else. Now, if your really interested..." 

"No." Seamus had found his voice at last. Anger filling him at the memory of the price he'd paid for the milk his mother would now never have. He got to his feet and stared defiantly at the boys circling him. Most were only a few years older than he was. All had grown up and grown hard and cruel fighting to survive. Just as he had fought. 

The young teen that had pushed him down placed a hand on his chest as though to push him again, but he batted the hand away. 

"Give me the cheese, squirt." 

"NO!" he said defiantly, drawing himself up as tall as he could. 

This only made the older boys laugh more loudly. "So what are you going to do, fight us." 

They all laughed now. Forming a loose ring around him, the boys pushed him back and forth, each shove becoming stronger. They roared with laughter as he stumbled and between them and eventually lost his footing and fell. He clung desperately to his small package. When pushing and shoving failed to bring the result they wanted the boys began to slap and kick him. He tried to fight back, but was outnumbered and outsized. He finally went down in a hail of striking fists, wrapping his arms around his head to protect himself, he felt other hands pry the lump of cheese from his fingers. Finally the fists stopped. 

"He's had enough," a voice said. 

He peeked through swollen eyelids and saw the cluster of feet still standing around him. 

"I know where we can trade this for a bottle of something a lot stronger. Then we can meet back at the pipes for a real party." 

The voices of the other boys were indistinct as they mumbled and laughed in agreement. He lay on the ground and watched as the feet started to drift away in different direction until only one pair remained. 

Daring to look upward, he saw his cheese being tossed casually in the hands of the gang's leader. "Thanks, whore boy. Next time you want to buy more let me know. I'll escort you to Old Zachary's myself, as long as you share." The young man turned to leave, whistling and casually tossing the cheese in the air as he went. 

Seamus was suddenly filled with rage. He had shamed himself to get food for his mother and now this bully was going to trade it for booze. No, he thought. Rising slowly and painfully to his knees, he stifled a groan, and searched the alley. It didn't take long to find what he needed, and he had to act fast while they were still alone. Getting to his feet, he picked up a short length of pipe, closed the gap between himself and his antagonist, and without thinking of the consequences, brought the pipe down sharply on the back of the boys skull with a dull and sickening crunch. The older boy went down as though he had been shot, and Harper grabbed the package of cheese and ran, sobbing as he did. He never stopped to see if the boy was alive or dead, never looked back. He ran until his sides ached with the exertion of running and the bruises from being beaten. He didn't stop until he was outside his tumble down home and realized the door was blocked with the backs of curious neighbors. 

"Let me through," he demanded, pushing against the adults crowded into his mother's doorway. "Let me through." He fought to control his breath and his voice. A pair of strong hands grabbed him firmly by the shoulders, stopping his headlong rush, holding him at arm's length while he kicked and fought this new obstacle. 

"Whoa. Slow down, Seamus. We need to talk." 

It wasn't until he heard the voice that Seamus looked up to see who was impeding his progress, ready to fight if he had to. But he suddenly went limp. The hands and voice belonged to his Uncle Orin, his mother's brother. Orin, his wife Zoe and their twins were the only remaining family Seamus and his mother had. 

"Look's like you've had a rough evening," Orin said gently. 

"'s nothin'" Seamus replied, trying to wiggle free of his uncle's grip. "Let me go. I need to get this to ma." 

"No," said Uncle Orin in the firm quiet voice Seamus associated with the grimmest news. "That's not what your mom needs now." 

Seamus looked up as he heard his uncle's voice crack. Tears brimmed the man's tired eyes. 

"I stopped in to see you and your mom. To bring you some broth Zoe had made. When I got here...I'm so sorry Seamus, but your mom passed on." 

Seamus stared into his Uncle's stricken face. His words sounded like some stupid euphemism the Ubers would toss at them. 'Passed on. Passed on.' But he knew what Uncle Orin meant. A wrenching sob tore from him as his uncle released his grip. He barreled through the knot of curious onlookers at the door to his home. Go away, he thought viscously. It's not like none of you have ever seen a dead person. 

The tiny room seemed overly warm. The fire had finally caught in the little wood burner. Someone had arranged his mother's body, her hands crossed over her chest, her eyes and mouth closed, the tattered blanket that could not warm her in life, now covered her in death. He fought against the tears that threatened to cascade down his cheeks, threw back his aching shoulders and held his head high as he approached her bed. She looked like she was asleep. She actually looked at peace. For the first time in her life, there was no pain. The curious neighbors had finally parted as he pushed his way into the room, and he walked to her side. Slowly, being careful not to disturb her rest, he tucked the cheese into the corner of her elbow, then stared defiantly at everyone in the room, daring them to attempt to remove it. This was his final gift to her. It didn't matter that the cheese meant a day or two of life for him. He knew where to get more. 

He stood for a moment in silence, then turned and walked from the tiny house to where Uncle Orin still stood. Orin and the neighbors would take care of burying mom. He never wanted to see this place again. Aunt Zoe seemed to understand as she gently took him into her arms. Burying his face in her shirt, he allowed the tears to come. Slowly at first, then in a raging torrent. He would cry now, until the pain of grief eased. He would never cry again. Aunt Zoe's hand gently stroked the back of his head in a soothing pattern, holding him as his mother would never hold him again. 

**** 

"Harper?" 

Harper was startled by the sound of the voice intruding on his memory and yet grateful to leave that place behind. 

"Harper?" 

He opened his eyes to find Trance's face centimeters from his, her brow creased with concern, her hand resting gently on his forearm. 

"Are you all right?" she asked. 

"Yeah," he answered. All right now, though he found himself fighting the urge to physically shake off the memory. 

"You seemed so out of it." 

"Nothin'. It really was nothin', Trance." 

Trance looked away, as if embarrassed. "I'm sorry if I said something that hurt you." 

"I said it was nothing. I'm just tired and could use some rest." 

He realized Trance was no longer clutching Hasturi's diary to her like a golden treasure. She glanced over her shoulder to where she'd left the book on her seat. "Do you want to look at the book?" she asked tentatively. 

Harper thought about it, then realized it no longer mattered. "No," he said softly. "I think I can wait until we get back to Andromeda. You take care of it. It's safer that way." He slowly got up from his chair, realizing he'd grown stiff with fatigue. "We'll be home soon." Moving away from the pilot's seat, and from her intense gaze, he turned to her and said. "About that question. About the cheese." He hesitated a brief moment. "I don't know. I guess the answer is I really don't know." 

_ end_


End file.
